


Slim Fit Jeans

by newisalwaysbetter



Category: Timeless (TV 2016)
Genre: F/M, Humor, flynn and christopher, flynn is a fashion diva, garcy is background, he brandishes the pants furiously, inspired by pants
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-04
Updated: 2019-05-04
Packaged: 2020-02-23 21:24:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18710233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/newisalwaysbetter/pseuds/newisalwaysbetter
Summary: “Annnnnd now I’m imagining Denise ducking in and out of Target with various sizes of slim cut jeans, searching for a pair that fits Flynn, having to return clothes in between trips while people stare her down and he sighs, hunkered in the back of a windowless van that Denise keeps locked in between trips and a plainclothes guard in the front seat staring him down.”Set during 2.03 “Hollywoodland,” just after Flynn breaks out of prison. Enjoy some humor crack featuring witty Denise and Fashion Diva Flynn.





	Slim Fit Jeans

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings for cursing, guns and gun threats. Garcyish, also inspired by Flynn’s cargo pants in 2.08 “The Day Reagan Was Shot.”

“I will walk around that bunker  _naked_  before I wear these damn–”

“Garcia Flynn, I bought you those pants with money out of my own pocket and you will wear them if I have to put them on you myself.”

“I am not one of your damn  _children,_ ” Flynn snaps.

“Then stop throwing a tantrum like one. Yesterday my daughter tried to go to school in her pajamas. Tell me, how do you think that worked for her? And how is  _this_  any different?”

Flynn’s voice drips with venom. “I am  _chained_  in the back of a  _van!_ ”

“Good of you to notice.” Denise’s tone rises with annoyance. “Maybe you’ve also noticed the lack of Rittenhouse agents trying to stab you.”

“What, you expect me to be grateful? For  _this?_ ” Flynn gestures to the bare, windowless inside of the van. His chain jingles. “And I understand what you’re taking me to isn’t much better.”

Denise huffs a deep breath, drawing on her near-limitless reserve of patience earned with the raising of two children. “ _You_  were the one who made us stop to buy you clothes. If you’ve changed your mind, I’m happy to stop loitering here and get moving.”

Five minutes after they’d picked him up off the road outside the prison, Flynn had violently stripped off his jumpsuit, leaving him in only an undershirt and boxers. (Denise still isn’t sure how he did it without taking off his handcuffs. Flynn had protested upon her putting them on, but Denise wouldn’t let him into the van–even the sealed-off back–without them.) She’d tried ordering Flynn to put the jumpsuit back on, had even flashed her gun, although she’d known even then that it wouldn’t work. Besides his near-allergic aversion to imprisonment or any reminder thereof, Flynn has been testing her boundaries all ride, finding the end of his leash.

This is, admittedly, an impasse. Although it would have served him right, Denise can’t in good conscience return to the bunker leading a six-foot-tall Croatian in handcuffs and underthings. She’d never live it down, besides which she doesn’t want to be responsible for five separate heart attacks.

So here she stands, looking into the open back of a windowless van parked in the commandeered loading dock of a suburban Target, staring down a scowling giant in boxer shorts and not much else. When Rufus warned her about the dangers of fighting Rittenhouse, this is somehow not what she imagined.

“Of course I want clothes,” Flynn hisses, “but these–” he brandishes the pants furiously– “won’t  _fit._ ”

“What? I grabbed the largest size.” Denise shakes her head. “Excuse me for not having bought men’s clothes in four decades; do I need to take you to a Big & Tall, or what?”

Flynn speaks with exaggerated patience. “If you’d just let me come in and try them on myself, we could be out in five minutes.”

“Considering what a prick you’re being about pant legs, I doubt it,” Denise mutters. She huffs a deep breath. “I’ll go in one more time, understood? you tell me what you want, and I will  _try–_ ” she pauses for emphasis–“to find something that meets your standards. A show of good faith for both of us. Agreed?”

A muscle works in Flynn’s jaw. Denise can see him turning the idea over in his head like a soldier examines a wound, getting used to its shape, searching for imminent danger. She sees him trip over the words  _good faith_.

“Get me one size down,” he grunts finally. “Dark colors. With pockets. And something to wear, on top.”

Denise crosses her arms. “Straight leg or slim fit, your majesty?”

That seems to encourage him, and Flynn’s eyes sparkle impishly. “Slim fit. But only if you don’t mind, of course.”

“You’re an ass,” Denise mutters, and then signals to her driver, a Quantico rookie she’s chosen to trust. “Keep an eye on him while I’m inside.”

Flynn cocks an eyebrow. “This kid is keeping an eye on  _me?_  What, who’s the babysitter here?”

“I wanted someone young watching you.” Although separated from Flynn by a metal grate, the kid in the front seat looks terrified. Denise makes eye contact and gives a reassuring nod. “If you bolt, I want someone who isn’t too experienced not to shoot you, but also not a good enough shot to hit a vital point.”

Flynn gapes furiously at that, but Denise just shrugs and slams the van doors before he can gather his wits enough to respond.

She does buy slim fit jeans, just to spite him, figuring that Flynn as a soldier would prefer a practical straight leg. But she knows she’s made a mistake when Flynn lifts them out of the bag and his eyes light up the same way they had upon spotting her gun.

The jingle of Flynn’s handcuffs as they pull away tells Denise that Flynn is finally, blessedly, getting dressed. It takes him the rest of the ride to check the rest of the bag, and to discover her surprise.

“I’m sorry;” Flynn’s voice is cold as ice– “what. In hell. Are  _these?_ ” 

Denise glances back to find him holding up the cargo pants she’d hidden under a sweatshirt. Flynn’s glare could melt steel. 

She just shrugs. “You said you wanted pockets.”

“What happened to good faith?” Flynn snorts nastily.

“What happened to your priorities?” Flynn stares at that, which gives her enough time to circle the van and open the doors. “First you’re all about getting out of prison to escape Rittenhouse, but who are these new clothes for? Lucy?”

She’d meant it as a joke, but there’s a terrible silence, and Denise looks up to find Flynn frozen, eyes flashing wide as though she’d cut him open tip to toe. They stare at each other for a long, awkward moment, before Denise clears her throat. “…Forget I said anything.”

It’s only when she’s climbed into the van and is unlocking his handcuffs that she feels the air has cleared enough to say, as lightly as possible: “If you’re having any ideas about Lucy, forget it. She and Wyatt have been circling each other like a couple of cats.”

Flynn snorts, but when she glances up at him, Denise finds his face unreadable.

“Well.” Flynn speaks almost to himself as he climbs out of the van, in head-to-toe black clothes like a well-groomed devil. “I guess we’ll see about that, mm?”


End file.
